Clipped
by Breetneebat
Summary: A young female Marco has spent her whole life in the slave trade, but one man is about to flip her life upside down. Genderswap/Violence/Abuse/AU
1. Chapter 1

**Pairings: Possible pairings in later chapters**

**Word Count: 3,681**

**Rating: M for later chapters. Gore/Language/Dark themes/possible sexual situations**

**Summary: A young female Marco has spent her whole life in the slave trade, but one man is about to flip her life upside down. **

**Warning: Genderswap, Violence, Child Abuse, and AU.**

**Disclaimer: Oda's characters belong to him.**

**A/N: So this is my first fic. Marco is a chick in this story because of reasons. **

**There is a reason I don't use names, and that will become apparent in later chapters. Just know that the story starts off in Marco's POV.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**.**

She looked through the bars of the cage swaying from the ceiling and noticed her master walking over to her with a plate of fruit. A rumbling rose from her stomach, shaking her whole body. She was starving.

Although her eyes were wide, bulging in desperation and a tiny dribble was trickling down her chin, the girl turned away from the man, crossing her arms defiantly

Her master chuckled as he approached the gate, his heels clicking on the tile floor echoed in the colossal room.

"Ah, my little pet, don't be like that. You must be famished; after all, it has been days since you've eaten."

His false concern couldn't hide the wickedness dripping from the words.

In spite of herself, the girl peeked at the mountain of fruit, and for a moment her resolve weakened. The man took this as a sign of acceptance and held the plate closer to the bars. She inhaled the sweet scent; it tickled her nose and tested her will.

"Yes yes. These are the finest and most flavorful fruits money can buy. You can have them all, but first you must do something for me: sing."

Quickly as it had gone, her resolve returned. Rebellion flared in her eyes; no way would she do anything for this beast of a man. She'd rather die than eat something that came from his disgusting hands. So as an answer, she glared into his sweaty, misshapen, doughy face and stuck her tongue out.

Scarlet colored his face, and he gritted his teeth in anger. What an insolent child! How dare she treat him like this! He had tried to be pleasant with the lowly creature, but this was the last straw. If he had to scar up his bird a little in order for it to sing- so be it! It would be a small price to pay. In the end all he needed was her voice. He would have liked to have a beautiful bird to display, but as long as he got his youth he could live with having a damaged pet.

Of course this act wasn't going to go unpunished. The man slammed the plate of fruit to the ground and stomped down with his shiny expensive leather boots, smashing every last one of them into the cold tile.

The crushed expression on the girl's face as she watched him demolish the food was pleasing enough. He smiled cruelly at her, baring his teeth.

"You will sing for me. Make no mistake, it is going to happen. You will return my youth with your song, and you will stay in this cage for the rest of your miserable life!"

The girl watched him storm away in a fit of rage, his voice still echoing through the hall and knew that whatever awaited her beyond this day was going to be worse than she could possibly imagine. Although, if that's what it took to keep what little pride she had left, well then so be it, because at this point, pride was all she had.

And so the girl sat in her cage, another night without food, another night closer to death, or perhaps something worse.

The next day, was no better, of course. She awoke with terrible stomach pains, to the sound of another one of the slaves in her master's house screaming at her.

"Wake up! Get up now!"

The girl lifted her head from the floor of the cage and looked at the slave in front of her. A cold fear settled in the pit of her heart. This man was well known around the household, they knew him as the Tormentor and for a very obvious reason, as he was the man the masters called upon to torture the slaves that were misbehaving.

He may have worn the same collar that she wore, but unlike her, this man had given up his humanity. And for what? The treatment he received was only a fraction better than everyone else's, and that's only if he pleased the master. And what he had to do to please the master was despicable.

The impatient, dark stare he cast up at her in her hanging prison was enough to freeze her in place. With considerable difficulty, she swallowed the fear, and braced herself. It's not like she hadn't known this was going to happen eventually. The price for keeping your soul was a high one.

The cage door was opened and the girl was pulled out roughly. She stumbled and tripped as the slave drug her through the halls, but his firm, powerful grip on her arm kept her from falling. She was considerably shorter than he was but he didn't slow down to a pace her tiny legs could handle, so her feet fumbled and slid across the floor like some ragdoll.

Down the halls they went, passing other slaves who gave her sympathetic looks, but never stepped in to help for fear of suffering the same fate. The girl didn't call out or even really give any notice to anyone else. These cowards were just as bad as the master, letting themselves be forced into submission. She would die before she ever did something so demeaning. But even so, she couldn't hate them. They did what they had to, just as anyone would, to survive. Self preservation wasn't strong with her, and as much as she tried to tell herself she was keeping her pride or humanity, she truly just didn't care enough about herself. It was much easier to suffer greatly for a short while than to suffer for years and years. She was rather planning on being put down soon.

Despite the situation, the girl took a good look at everything they passed. Of course the idiot master would have very fine taste. Everything was either gold, encrusted with jewels, or sparkled brilliantly. She imagined this was something that a lot of people could only dream of, and just as many would give up everything to be able to live in a place so unreal, but all it did was hurt her eyes.

She had to admit though, the rugs she was stumbling on were very soft, and felt wonderful on her calloused feet. The closest thing she could remember walking on that was as soft as this was grass. And so, while she was dragged along she dug her toes in the fibers, and slide her feet across the decorative flora patterns. Though she had to admit that the softness of the rugs on which she stumbled felt wonderful on her calloused feet. The long fibers sweeping between her toes reminded her pleasantly of grass. She wanted to remember this feeling.

Suddenly, the luxuriously furnished halls turned into cobweb infested, damp, grey stone. The dungeon. She had never been to this place, in fact she hadn't really been anywhere but her cage. Most of the slaves made their homes in the dungeon, since only the favorite slaves were allowed to live in the house.

Quite unlike the nice rugs, the floor of the dungeon was uneven and rough. Her foot would frequently fall victim to a puddle of what she hoped was water. It was hard to tell in the dim, torch-lit halls.

The journey was a nerve racking one. The light was only enough to illuminate the hall, the cells lining the walls on either side of her were dark. Only the bars and a few inches in were visible, the rest was pitch black.

It felt like every cell was harboring some strange creature- and it didn't help that as she looked deep into the black the shapes of these imaginary monsters started to define themselves in the shadows.

Subject to the irrevocable power of a child's imagination, she found herself staying close to the only other human she could see. Strange how the only thing that could repel the monsters in the shadows was the devil with his hand on her shoulder. As he tightened his grip she was reminded of who the real danger was.

She kept quiet and didn't resist as she was taken to the room she was going to be tortured in. There was no point in running; it would only make matters worse. If she begged it would only please this devil, and she didn't want to make this anymore pleasurable to the bastard than it had to be.

"Come on brat, you're too damn slow."

In his impatience, the slave gripped down and yanked the small child along. She bit her tongue to keep from yelling out in pain. It felt like her arm was snapping. He pushed her into a room, and then slammed the door shut. Despite telling herself she was going to be strong and not let this man see her frightened, she was pressed in the corner watching him like a rabbit seized with terror.

At first he left her there, cowering in fear, while he prepared. It gave the girl a chance to take in her surroundings. It only took a glance to make her wish she hadn't.

The whole room was like something out of a horror story. So much so, that it almost didn't seem real. There was a chair in the middle with straps hanging around it and blood splattered every which way on the floor. There was a metal table to her left; it reminded her of a morgue. That, surprisingly, was clean, but the bone saw laying on it was far from it. On the opposite side of the room, there was a counter covered with all kinds of strange and frightening instruments. Some you'd expect, like a knife, others like a bear trap weren't the first thing that'd come to mind. But maybe that was just her inexperience with situations like this.

The only light shone dimly from a single, flickering bulb swaying from the ceiling. Shadows were cast around the room like moving nightmares and the stench of blood was so strong that she could taste iron in her mouth.

The sound of clanging metal alerted her to the man as he began advancing. A small smile slide its way across his face as he slowly approached her. His grin made the hair on the back of her neck raise. Her limbs trembled and her knees felt weak. Quick as a cat, the man grabbed her and threw her against the back wall. Before she had time to recover, he was chaining her arms painfully above her head. Strangely, she was chained facing the wall. She had guessed he would have liked to watch her expression as he tortured her.

As if to answer her silent musing, the man said,

"Such a shame. A virgin to true pain. I would have liked to see your face as I broke you in, but the master doesn't want the damage to be visible. Not a problem. I'll just have to satisfy myself with your sounds."

She struggled but only for a moment. It was pointless. There was only one thing she could do to avoid this and that was giving that hideous man what he wanted and sing. Hell no. It was only a little pain, she could handle that. She had been pushed around and bullied her whole life; she knew how to handle pain.

Something cold touched her back, and she tensed then gasped in surprise. She had been so ready for pain that she hadn't noticed at first that it didn't hurt.

The sound of fabric ripping echoed off the stone walls as the tormentor cut the back of her shirt off with a cool blade.

"Ready to begin dear?"

A question she never had the opportunity to answer before he began pressing the blade to her back and sliding it through her flesh.

She winced, but was pleasantly surprised. These cuts were no worse than scratches, very bearable. Was he underestimating her because she was a child? In any other situation she would have been offended, but in this case it was a good thing. Why make the situation any more painful than it had to be?

The slave smiled; with the last of the fabric sitting quietly at his newest victim's petite feet he was able to take a good look at his canvas. She was terribly thin; the bones protruding were doing so elegantly. He didn't know much about this particular specimen, master had only said that he needed the girl to be afraid, but he could guess that she had been in the slave trade for awhile, if not her whole life. Lack of proper nutrition was obviously stunting her growth, or something, because damn this girl was tiny.

But there was something exciting in the way her skin slide so smoothly over her bones. It was a rare event to be able to work on a child, and such a young one as well. As a matter of fact, he supposed he hadn't ever been allowed to play with a child. Oh how he wanted to see inside, but he wasn't allowed to with this one. No he had to be gentle.

The knife felt comforting in his hand, and he licked his lips before gently placing the metal against the porcelain white skin. The sharp, breezy sound that his canvas made was dazzling; it sent gratifying shivers down his spine.

More. He had to have more. So he pressed down a little harder. This time her body jerked away from him, but with a wall in front of her, there wasn't anywhere for that body to escape. The way her back arched and her head was thrown back was almost reminiscent of a woman in ecstasy. A thin trail of warm crimson trickled down her back, soaking into her pants. Again. Again. Again.

Cut after cut. Gasps and strangled yelps echoed against the stone walls lightly, and it just made him want more.

When finally he pressed hard enough, and sliced deep enough to elicit a scream, he stopped. The tiny creature released a sob.

He walked away from his painting, and went to clean his knife.

He returned to see her hanging from her cuffs, no strength left to even stand. Her body limp and lifeless, swaying with the stained metal chains, hands high above her head, was absolutely stunning. He absorbed the image, burning it into his head for later use.

She was sweaty and panting a little. Her limbs looked unnatural almost to the point of being broken, with the way they bent under her weight. On that note, it was very likely that if he left her like that for very much longer those arms really would break. They couldn't hold her full weight forever. Or perhaps her lungs would collapse against her chest cavity. It was hard not to leave her there to see which would occur first, but master wanted those lungs so he couldn't risk it.

He strolled over, a slight spring in his step, when he stopped dead. She glanced up at him through her shaggy blonde hair and what he saw in those eyes was infuriating.

There wasn't a drop of that fear he so loved, not a drop. Yes there was pain, maybe even agony, but no fear. Her gaze, though slightly glassy and half-lidded, was sturdy and strong.

He took a step forward, as if to strike, but stopped himself. Gentle, he must be gentle. Couldn't muck up her face. The boss would have his head if he did.

So, instead he opted to focus his attention to his work. The cuts were a little deeper than originally planned, and there were a lot more of them than he even recalled making. But the girl had fought him so valiantly; it had taken all this damage to even cause her to scream. And a scream was what he was after.

Vivid red blotches stained her skin. Although he didn't discriminate when it came to his art, nothing was quite as beautiful as blood on white. Other colors could be beautiful as well, but white was the absence of distraction. He could just focus on his prize.

Some of the blood had already dried to a brownish hue, but there was no lack of fresh blood seeping from the countless wounds lining her back. How beautiful, he thought, as he resumed cleaning his instruments.

When he returned, the girl hadn't moved. Her position, and applied weight was causing the cuffs to slice into her skin. A thin trail of blood was racing down her arm.

He had to get these bandaged up, and pretty soon. There was a rather large amount of blood pooling around her tiny legs. He was fairly sure she was in no danger of bleeding out, but if she lost anymore it could be hazardous to her already poor health.

Without much care about how rough he was being, the slave unhooked her from the wall, and watched with a satisfying smirk as she instantly fell to the stone floor. The wet smack produced from her landing in her own blood reverberated off the walls. It caused his arms to break out in goose bumps.

It wasn't the easiest thing to walk down the hall with her, not when she could barely stay on her feet. He was almost carrying her. He wasn't weak, and she wasn't heavy, but it was just throwing him off balance every time he started to go at a decent pace and she collapsed.

She left droplets of blood everywhere she went, which had to be remedied. Couldn't have her bleeding on the upstairs floors.

Through the musty halls they walked until they arrived at the only door in the hall that wasn't lined with bars. He entered without even knocking.

Inside was the infirmary for the slaves. It looked how one might imagine it, uncomfortable and poorly stocked.

He threw her on the gurney against the wall, and she went down without making a sound.

"What now? What is this?"

A small elderly man in a white coat rushed over to the girl and began patching her up without being prompted. Whether the question had been rhetorical, didn't matter because the older slave didn't speak. He simply watched as the Doctor stitched up his handiwork.

Not all of his babies would need to be stitched but a handful were pretty bad. Might even leave nasty scars. The idea of having a permanent reminder of himself on the girl was thrilling.

The girl swallowed a whimper, and instead let out a heavy breath. The pain was gut wrenching. Never, never in her life had she ever been in so much pain. A shove or a punch could not compare to the searing, screaming piercing agony that was now smothering her. And dear god, the guy had only cut her. She couldn't even imagine how much worse this could be if he had done or used anything else.

She promptly shook her head. Stop being a baby! This is nothing! She could handle this!

The child blinked away the oncoming tears, and forcibly steadied her shaky breathing. The man behind her finished wrapping gauze around her torso, and then kindly helped her sit up. He walked away and returned with a generic white shirt.

She had difficulty raising her arms to put the clothing on, but the elderly man was patient and kind. The material wasn't soft, and was thin, but at least she wasn't exposed anymore. Before she could even think of saying thank you, she was yanked from her seat and yet again dragged towards a new destination.

The trip back to her cage was as uneventful as before, but a hundred times more painful. The other servants wouldn't even look at her this time. No one had the stomach to face her now.

The torturer was frustrated; she could tell. She was being extra difficult, not even trying to walk. It was somewhat revenge, but even his misfortune wasn't making her feel any better. Truthfully, she didn't think she could walk even if she tried.

She could actually say she was happy to be returning to her prison. At least here she could be alone. Some of her cuts stung as she stumbled inside her cage after a coldhearted push from the slave, but she managed not to give him any more satisfaction by making noise.

She stayed where she fell and didn't move. For hours she lay there, unable to fall asleep form the pain. Unable to escape.

It was late in the night when she heard whispers coming from the next room.

"He'll have us cleaning all night again!"

"But I hear that he invited a rather important person to dine with him tomorrow."

"Important! Humph! More like just famous. I can't believe our master, allowing such a notorious pirate into his home. Even if he is famous, it isn't safe."

"You know the master, he likes being connected, even if it's with pirates. It isn't just some lunch, he's going to size up this pirate, see what he's worth and determine if there is anything he wants from him. Then he'll probably have him killed or enslaved."

The whispers went on, but she was too tired to pay attention any longer. Though she did ponder the gossiper's words, Pirate? So there was going to be a guest here tomorrow. She had met many pirates in her life. Being in the slave trade ensured that. Most had been rude, ruthless and ignorant, but every now and then there would be one that was kind enough to tell her stories of his adventures on the high seas.

What a life it would be to be able to roam where ever you wish, sleep under the stars, and eat as much as you could each meal.

At the thought of food, her stomach cramped causing her to jerk, thus in turn causing her cuts to sting. When would this suffering be over? Would she ever be set free?

Free. There was a word she didn't know the meaning of. She couldn't remember a time when she had ever felt freedom. She imagined it felt like the wind.

She fell asleep shortly after, dreaming of ocean waves and good food.

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><p><strong>AN: First chapter done! Please tell me what you think~**

**I am a little slow so it'll be awhile before the next chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2: Ugly

**Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. I have been terribly swamped with school work as well as having an upper respiratory infection that nearly sent me to the hospital. Also my beta readers take their sweet time. Love those guys~*~*~**

**Thanks to everyone who faved, added to their watchlist, and all that jazz. I really appreciate the support and it encourages me to write.**

**A special thanks to the sweet, wonderful, beautiful, glorious children who reviewed. This chapter is dedicated to you guys. LOVE YOU~**

**Dreamwritergoddess: Thank you! I'm sorry about it lacking a One Piece feel. The combination of switched genders, AU universe, and dark themes with lack of uplifting humor probably has a huge part in that. Hopefully the introduction of other OP characters will help. If not please keep telling me! Any suggestions on how to make it feel more OP would be welcomed as well.**

**Incredible-Cillit-Bang: THANKS! Keep speculating and keep telling me about it!**

**This story is a rewrite of an original story I am doing for my creative writing class, and while I get a lot of feedback from my class mates, they don't read it as a fanfiction. So please give me all the feedback you can especially in regards to the fandom. Please don't be afraid to talk to me! I love getting suggestions! And pretty soon I'll be asking you, my most beloved readers, your opinions on how you want this story to go via polls and questions in the A\N. Or on tumblr if enough ffbros join me there.**

**Anyway, enjoy please.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Ugly<strong>

"I can't believe you actually took him up on his offer Pops."

Newgate simply grinned at his much younger crew mate, not taking offense to the boy's disbelief.

"Why wouldn't I? Declining a dinner invitation is incredibly rude."

The young brunette staring up at him with an incredulous glare seemed a little more than put off by his captain's choice.

"But he's a nobleman and he owns slaves! I would have thought you'd have a little more pride. Maybe I don't want a dad who associates with slave owners."

"Gurarara! Have some faith! I won't be leaving empty-handed. It's not every day you get a chance to rob a higher elite without the hassle of breaking and entering. So take it easy."

This seemed to please the young man since he forgave his captain quickly and shot him a sly grin.

"So what's our plan?"

Newgate shook his head, returning the young man's grin with an apologetic smile.

"Not 'our' - just me. Sorry son."

The boy visibly deflated and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh that took his entire body to perform.

"You get to have all the fun. You better bring me back something nice then."

The boy pushed his father's hand away as the large man tried to tousle his hair then sulked off to help his brothers with the ship, mumbling a string of curses he more than likely picked up from his father. Their ship required a lot of man handling as it was a piece of junk, not much better than a dingy. The thing was built by a moron, and even someone like himself, who didn't know a thing about building ships could see that. But it was all they could afford at the moment.

If everything went as planned they might finally acquire a larger ship, one he could actually fit on comfortably, being a man well above average height. More crewmates would have to be arranged, as three was a rather small and unintimidating number. Well, if he counted himself it was four but that still wasn't any better.

A glance at the sun told Newgate it was about time that he shed these gruff pirate clothes and sport something a little more formal. He doubted he could hoodwink that brat noble if he walked in looking like a ship rat. If he dressed proper and put on an extra good performance then it would be much easier to gain his trust and raid his vault. He had a vault, didn't he? That's what rich folks had, right?

What a bother. Being sneaky and lying weren't his strongest points. He was more a man of action, and in all honesty he'd rather just storm the place and make off with the loot, like a respectable pirate, but he barely had a crew and they were all children. He wouldn't risk their lives for something as ridiculous as money.

Money was easy to obtain, it was abundant and usually in the hands of idiots. Good trustworthy people were not as abundant and not easy to obtain. These kids were young, but they were worth more than money, any amount of it. They were his family.

That also happened to be one of the reasons he even agreed to this little tea party. If he had refused they wouldn't have been able to leave the Island in peace; despite his strength there was no way he could protect their tiny boat, himself, and his three kids from the army he knew this noble had. Ever since those well dressed soldiers had walked up on him and handed him that fancy parchment inviting him to dine with the so called king of this island, he had been scoping the place out. There were armed soldiers on every street.

It was just easier to play along until he could ensure their escape and safety. Of course, he couldn't let on to his sons that this was the reason; they would be insulted for sure. He trusted the kids to take care of themselves, but at the same time he knew their limitations. None of them were over fourteen yet and despite early talent, they were still just babies compared to him. He had to walk at their pace until they could keep up with him.

The saying, "That'll hurt in the morning" had never meant much to her, but after last night it became more true than the iron bars surrounding her. If she thought that she had been in pain before, then she didn't even know what the word meant.

With barely three hours of rest, she had been woken by the sweet aroma of food. The room she was in reeked of it, and that in turn caused her stomach to have a tantrum. She doubled over and clutched the angry organ, but that only aggravated the knife wounds. Every wrong move she made felt like her back was splitting open, and in some places it probably was.

It wasn't long before her head started to throb like someone had struck her. Not a moment after she felt it, she determined that it was most likely from oncoming dehydration. All the blood loss and sweating had depleted her. She hadn't had a drink of water in almost a day on top of it.

Other slaves of the house ran past her cage, in and out of the room. A table, a very large table, had already been set up in the center of the long room. She hadn't noticed it before, mostly because the room had never been used while she had been residing here, but this did seem like a dining room. The walls were lined with pillars, and it was longer than it was wide. And everything was white or gold.

For a brief moment she pondered why he would place her cage in the dining room. It didn't seem an appropriate place. But then, the master only saw her as a status symbol, so of course he would want her where he could flaunt her. _Not me_, she reminded herself. The master didn't care about her, it was the power she possessed that he loved so dearly.

A thick woman, dressed in a rather fancy looking uniform broke through the girl's train of thought by lighting lanterns she hadn't noticed until now. In fact, she began to realize a handful of the slaves were wearing similar uniforms that she had never seen before. Trying to impress whoever this guest was with a show of wealth it seemed.

The girl sighed and tried to get comfortable. She may as well try going back to sleep. No matter how hard she tried though, sleep never came. The pain and hunger mixed with all the noise of the busy servants made it impossible. So, she preoccupied herself with watching all the people scurrying around likes bugs, as if it mattered.

A gaudy clock, nearly as big as the wall, ticked away the seconds, dragging them out as if they were hours.

A little more than thirty minutes after her attempt at sleep, a group of young female slaves surrounded her cage, all sizing her up with varying degrees of haughtiness.

"There isn't much to work with, is there?"

The child instinctually squashed herself against the back of the cage, watching the girls with a fixed apprehensive stare. The cold bars pressed into the scores of slashes that lined her back half. Agony swept over her, but she kept silent as the girls giggled.

"No there most certainly is not. But I suppose we must."

"Yes of course."

Four of them shared another round of giggles, while the fifth just stood awkwardly off to the side, before unlocking and opening the door to her cell. A blonde one, the leader of the group it looked like, stood in the doorway and motioned for the child to get out.

She hesitated but deemed that the group of bubbly idiots wasn't a threat, and complied. Whatever the girls had planned was better than sitting in that awful cage all day again.

It was hard for her to get out, her wounds protested with every move she made and stiff bones refused to behave. Blondie seemed to be getting impatient, and she waved over a more homely girl, who gently picked the child up and held her. Homely smiled, and the girl determined that she liked Homely very much and didn't mind being carried by her.

The ladies headed off then, gossiping, giggling, and just generally being annoying. The halls they walked were bursting with activity. Tired women rushed past the group with cleaning supplies and elegant dishes. It seemed the whole house was in a frenzy. This pirate must be an important person for the master to want to impress him so bad. It was a little strange to her that the master would even want to impress a pirate. Weren't they criminals? For a man who was so concerned about who he associated with, the idea of a pirate in the house seemed absurd.

She didn't have long to ponder what was so special about him, before she was steered into a room and away from the bustling bodies of the slaves.

The ladies immediately went to preparing, though she wasn't sure what. It only took a glance for her to figure out that she was in a bathroom of sorts. There was a large tub and an equally large salon area. It must have been where the female slaves of the house bathed.

Blondie walked over and stared the child down.

"Alright. Despite the uh, challenge ahead of us, we were assigned to make you beautiful, and that's what we're going to do. Don't give me any trouble little girl! I was authorized to use force, like this."

The child pressed her face into Homely's neck, but kept her eye on what Blonde Girl was doing. She pulled out a remote of some kind and pressed a red button.

Homely girl could barely hold on to the child as her body jerked and she clutched at the silver collar around her neck. Blondie rolled her eyes and sighed.

"See? If you misbehave I'll just press this button here, and that little jolt of electricity will make your day hell. So just behave ok? All we want to do is give you a makeover. It's not going to hurt, and you'll feel nicer after it's over. Ok? You hear me? Ok?"

The child didn't move, or acknowledge the lady; her body trembled and stayed pressed against Homely. Blondie placed her hand on a swung out hip.

"What a dumb kid. Anyways, in the tub you go."

Homely glanced up at the much taller Blondie.

"You didn't have to shock her. She hadn't even done anything."

Blondie dismissed Homely with a finger pointed at the tub.

"I was just asserting my authority. Who knows what kind of wild heathen this child is? Just look at her."

Homely sat the child down and with a little effort managed to get her to let go. With considerate hands, Homely helped the tiny girl shed her filthy clothes. Next, she started unraveling her bandages, which in turn caused the child to panic. She jerked away and clutched the cloth to her chest.

Homely smiled again, easing some of the tension away, and held her hand out.

"Come now sweetheart, I won't hurt you, I promise."

After a moment of contemplating, the girl decided Homely was telling the truth, and allowed the bandages to be removed, but she kept a sharp eye on all of them.

The woman's fingers worked briskly but softly. She felt the fabric sliding to the floor. A sharp pain in her back forced a muffled gasped; the bandage had snagged a stitch.

Homely was awfully quiet, and had stopped unwrapping. Blondie walked over to see what had caused her drone to stop working. She let out a long low whistle.

"I had heard that this kid was a trouble maker, but damn. She must be some firecracker."

Homely resumed unwrapping, a little more considerate of the stitches this time.

"It's awful. How could anyone do this to a child?"

"With a knife obviously. You're too soft Olive. Don't you go getting lovey-dovey with this brat. We've all worked too hard to get on the master's good side to risk it for a kid. Especially this kid. You want to go back to sleeping on stone floors?"

Olive shook her head.

"No, of course not."

"Then shut it and let's get this over with."

The water wasn't warm, but it wasn't that cold either. It aggravated her cuts, but it was bearable. She was excited about getting a bath, she wasn't allowed one very often, and she rather enjoyed them.

She liked water, despite her inability to swim. Rain was her favorite. She didn't get to see rain very much anymore, but the sound of thunder was comforting.

The girls had turned away from her, and she was left to stare at the liquid with a parched throat. So with very little hesitation she started cupping the water in her dirty hands and drinking deeply. She didn't get much before Olive came back and gently grabbed her arm.

"No don't drink that. Here."

She turned the faucet on and filled a pitcher, with a very neutral expression, then handed it to the girl. And so she drank until she felt she would burst.

Olive rolled up her pants legs, and swung her feet into the water, then placed herself on the edge of the tub.

The sympathy that had been in Olive's eyes was gone. Now it was just a cool indifference. The child supposed she wasn't more important than a comfortable place to sleep. Not a problem; no one had ever treated her as more than an object, so she was use to being looked at like she wasn't there. In fact she felt better this way. They could all just pretend that they had never met.

Olive was still gentle, despite her current outlook. She scrubbed the grim away from the child's body. The tub water was turning a dark grey, and the girl felt a little sick thinking she had drank that water, despite it having been rather clean when she did. Olive let the water out and proceeded to wash the child with clean water. She was surprised to find out the girl's hair was blonde, a very bright blonde. It reminded her of the sun.

"Ahahaha! She doesn't have any hair, except on the top of her head. How ugly! I expect she'll be bald by the time she's 17!"

Blondie had walked over to check on the progress, when she noticed the child's unusual hair cut. At first she had simply thought the hair was so matted that it only looked like she was partially bald. The other girls stopped what they were doing and came to giggle with the blonde.

"Her head kind of looks like a pineapple, no?"

This comment caused another round of laughter, and the girls then decided they would dub the child, Pineapple.

The child touched her head. No one had ever called her ugly before, but then no one had ever called her beautiful either.

Her earlier years in the slave trade were filled with the desire for communication. She wanted people to notice her, to talk to her. Even if it was just spiteful, horrible things. She had always believed that not hearing anything was worse, but after today she realized it hurt either way.

The child wasn't vain, and didn't much care for appearances, but she couldn't help how that one word made her heart sink. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she turned away from them.

Olive shooed the others away, and continued cleaning the child.

With a rinse, she was plucked from the tub and wrapped in a soft towel. Her wounds were quickly rewrapped and then she was placed in a chair in front of a full body mirror with large light bulbs buzzing at the top

It was too bright over here, and the girl had to shut her eyes.

The others began fussing around her head. She felt objects poking, gliding, and scraping across her face. The sound of scissors snipping blended in with the sound of the hair dryer and constant gossip.

The child was afraid to open her eyes and see what they were doing. Every once in a while she was asked to lift or lower her head, or open her eyes, but even if she did she avoided looking at the mirror.

She felt them clipping at her fingers and toes, and powdering her skin. She had always heard that women relished in such pampering, but she just wanted it to stop. How could anyone enjoy such evasive and painful procedures? She was being poked, prodded, scratched, and touched. The touching was the worst. So many hands were pulling and tugging on skin and hair. She wasn't use to being handled like this, people rarely touched her.

"Hey Pineapple."

The girl opened her eyes and looked at Blondie. She was holding a large needle and some gold pieces of metal. From where she was there was no telling what the metal was. Blondie stepped forward and leaned down to be face to face with her.

"Now be still."

The needle was stabbed through the lob of her left ear. There was barely time for her to wince before the same was done to the right side. Suddenly the mystery of the gold metal was solved. She was getting her ears pierced. It didn't hurt, she didn't really feel anything. But then again, after having a knife slice down your back a needle to an ear was nothing.

Blonde girl poked the earrings into placed and clasped them shut. Then she moved out of the way and the girls, all but Olive, walked away to some unknown place to do some unknown task. The child was far too occupied with her image in the mirror to even bother keeping tabs on the others. _Who was that?_

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><p><strong>AN: Another one done! Please tell me what you think!**


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